Bestest
by Spencer Olson
Summary: John teaches his new bestest friend to see things in a way he never even thought possible. And that's a very hard thing to do. A collection of kidlock drabbles.


Sherlock and John don't belong to me - they belong to everyone.

Community Sherlock-And-John.

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The Kirkland city park was unusually quiet today, two little boys observed, each of them in their own special way. One was not fond of the outside in the first place - he had always preferred to be cool and controlled inside a building - but he had noticed that, the last time he had walked through here, it had been approximately ten degrees warmer, just warm enough to make a fleece and cotton coat uncomfortable if not unbearably stifling. Even if that hadn't stopped him then, at least now he wasn't adjusting the jacket back and fourth nearly as much in this weather. Anyhow, pertaining to the level of noise, there weren't any children there other than a quiet little boy digging in the sandbox, and that was the way he preferred it. He wasn't fond of other boys and girls his age anyway, they were far too incompetent and boisterous for his liking. He was perfectly content to swing on his own, left to his thoughts which went everywhere and anywhere.

The other boy in the sandbox however simply noticed no one was trying to kick his sandcastle down; which came as a relief and a pleasant little personal victory. None of the other boys or girls his age appreciated quiet. Quiet helped him think, and thinking was always fun because you could never do it wrong. There was no wrong way to think! Wasn't that nice? He smiled, his cheeks already pulling themselves into tiny laugh lines on the indents of his face.

The boys stayed on the opposite side of each other do a good while, both of them quietly swinging and building respectively.

That is... Until one of them fell off of his swing with a loud thump.

The boy in the sandbox scrambled to his feet quickly, patting at the sand on his bum as he started to run clumsily towards the fallen child by the swings, stumbling over one untied shoelace. His expression was grim and he could hear sirens in his own imaginative mind as he padded along the mulch to the other side of the park. "It's alright, it's 'kay!" He said reassuringly, falling to his knees beside the other child, who's long, rather overlarge flannel overcoat was fanned about him like a small parachute.

The injured boy sat up, brushing pieces of wood out of his dark curly hair and looking rather miffed. "I am quite fine." He sniffed - of course from annoyance, not from the tears that were welling up in his eyes - and stood up, taking a step back from the gentle sand-covered boy before tripping over his own coat and falling backwards with a cry of frustration.

"Shh, there there." The other cooed, leaning over and prodding the fallen child here and there in random places as if looking for something, although it made the injuries smart and a tear - of, obviously, annoyance - to spill over the bright eyes of the one below.

"Stoppit!" The raven squeaked angrily, nursing his knee and, at the same time, still trying to protect his scuffed up hand. "Let go of me, hooligan!"

The other boy looked rather indignant. "I'm not a hooligan. I'm a doctor." He said, as if it were common knowledge. His gaze fell to the pale hand clutching at a scraped knee, the skin of the knuckles worn and dotted with a few beads of crimson. "At least I'm gonna be a doctor when I grow up. Doctors're magic, don't you know?" He looked very sure of himself, soft brown eyes twinkling with the prospect of helping others with his Doctor Magic. "Doctor John Hamish Watson."

The raven was not impressed. "Magic does not exist." He said bluntly, his tiny arms crossing and his lip showing the beginning signs of a pout-to-be. "Idiot."

John looked extremely un-fazed, much to the further annoyance of his patient. "Magic does too exist. Gimme your hand please, coat-boy." He held out his own small hand, gesturing patiently.

"My name is not coat-boy, it is Sherlock Holmes and I am... and I am NOT going to... You... can't prove it."

"Can too!"

"No you can't!"

"Yuh-huh! Gimme your hand!"

"FINE!"

John looked like he had won a world war, his posture straightening victoriously as he took Sherlock's small hand in his own grasp. "Are you ready?" He said lowly. "I'm gonna make it all better." His smile was sweet, but utterly confident in his own... Powers. Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Fine." He said dully.

John's lips gently touched his hand.

Sherlock immediately recoiled, looking utterly shocked. He had just been kissed! That only happened in books, and in the stories his brother told him before bed! What did that...?

"I'm breaking up with you."

"...what?"

Only girlfriends and boyfriends kiss each-other, a-and the prince kisses the princess, and then they get married... You did not discuss this with me beforehand. So I will be dumping you now."

John looked utterly bewildered. "Oh." He said dully, blinking. "But-"

"Do you have a ring?"

The doctor-to-be blinked. "Um, no."

Sherlock took a stick and bent it in half, haphazardly wrapping it around his finger, looked at John, took the stick off his finger, threw it on the ground and glared at it.

John was hopelessly confused. "But I don't want to get married. I'm only six."

Sherlock looked back up at him. "Then what did you kiss me for?"

"Because kisses have healing powers." The sandy-haired boy said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Sherlock gave him a 'look'. The one his brother always have him when he didn't want to say "yeah, right" out loud.

John was really irksome with his whole "I-will-not-be-offended" way of thinking. He just brushed it off stubbornly, looking down at the hand he had kissed. "Does it still hurt?" He asked, raising his eyebrows questioningly.

Sherlock bristled. "No, but we've been sitting here a good while!" There was a beat. "Stop looking so... Stupid!"

"You're just mad cuz I'm magic!"

"Am not!"

"Are too!"

"Am not!"

"What do you wanna be when you grow up?" John asked randomly.

There was a pause. Sherlock stood up, his knee and hand no longer hurting for reasons which he knew because of course he had been sitting a very long time obviously.

"I'm going to be a pirate."

John nodded wisely. "Smart choice."

Sherlock blinked at him. "You believe in pirates?" He asked quietly, fiddling with his coat, suddenly shy.

"Of course I do." The blonde nodded. "They're not magic, but they are pretty brilliant."

"What if... One was a pirate doctor?" Sherlock murmured, looking up at the other boy.

John looked thrilled. "I never thought of that."

"Course you didn't. I'm smarter than you."

John looked rather befuddled by his answer, but he shrugged it off. "Arg. I'm a pirate-doctor." He said experimentally, squinting in a pirate-like fashion. Sherlock was impressed. To anyone else it would've looked ridiculous, but the park was empty.

"Quick! To our ship!" John started running towards the playset, growling menacingly. He hopped up on the mainframe, grabbing the blue plastic steering wheel.

After a short moment of concern for the other boy, Sherlock trotted after him, confused. "What are you doing, John?" He asked confusedly.

"There is an enemy ship that-a-way, Cap'n!" John replied. "Man the canons and the sails and stuff!"

Sherlock clambered wearily up onto the set, nearly getting tangled in his coat again. "But we're in a park, John."

John looked annoyed. "It's PRETEND." He scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Haven't you ever pretended before?"

"No." Sherlock said simply.

John looked surprised. "Oh. Okay."

"How do you pretend?"

"...use your 'magination."

"How?"

"Close your eyes and think about being a pirate."

Sherlock did. He looked rather constipated.

"Noooo." John sighed, toddling over and pulling his new friend up farther onto the play area. "Lookit. Right over there, there's an enemy ship with a red flag, and they're gonna come steal our treasure."

Sherlock nodded, his pale cheeks puffing outwards with effort.

"And the ship that we're on is rocking back an' forth. It's stormy."

"Are we gonna drown, John?"

"No, it's okay. We have a good ship."

"Can it be called the S.S. Smaug?"

"Yes. So the S.S. Smaug is a very good ship and we aren't gonna drown. But the other ship isn't a good ship an' we need to shoot it."

Sherlock looked down at his hands. "Do we have swords? They seem to be the type to board us and behead us," he deduced.

John ran down and picked up a stick. "I have a good cutlass here for you. Elves made it." He said proudly. He almost handed it over to Sherlock, before thinking better of it. "You have to name it though."

Sherlock thought. "...Benedict." He said confidently, grabbing his sword and awkwardly shielding it in his coat.

John wished he had thought of that name for his sword. Martin wasn't very majestic.

"Man the bridge." Sherlock said dramatically, putting on a stony, serious expression.

John didn't know what that meant, but Sherlock was glaring at him so he jumped around, pulling at imaginary ropes. "Swan the deck!"

Sherlock waved his arm about, steering violently. "It's SWAB, pirate doctor."

"SWAB THE DECK!" John said, growling ferociously.

Sherlock held the steering wheel stock still, gasping. "They're coming closer, John! They're going to board us! What do we do?"

John grinned, swishing Martin energetically through the air. "Let's get 'em." He said, just like in the movies.

Sherlock almost told his pirate doctor to stop using cliche catchphrases before deciding against it and turning around to slash his twig through a bad guy. "Take that, scurvy scum." He hissed. "You're never gonna take me alive."

"Sherlock! Behind you!" John called, attempting a cartwheel but managing a sort of half-somersault while nearly cracking his head on the play-wall.

His companion pushed the bad guy off of the ship and into the ocean with a loud roar. John thought it was quite impressive. Anyone else would've said it sounded more like an enraged squeak.

Suddenly, Sherlock was down. "Jooohn-" he gurgled, clutching his side. "They got meeee-" deciding it needed to be more dramatic, he writhed around on the floor for good measure.

John gasped, offing his own opponent before scrambling over to his squirmy companion. "Sherlock!" He called worriedly. "Are you... Are you okay?"

Sherlock groaned, twitching.

"Where does it hurt?"

Sherlock closed his eyes. He was dying. "Everywhere."

John blinked. Every was a lot of where. "Oh." He said intelligently.

"Hurry up I'm dying."

John flailed a bit, then blew him a kiss. That would hit every where there was.

Sherlock bounced up, cheering before looking into the sky dramatically. "You saved the day." He said in a gravelly voice.

John looked very proud.

Suddenly, a shadow fell over them, and both little boys pounced on their next enemy bent on taking their treasure.

"What in the WORLD are you doing!?" Came the muffled cry from under the bundle of squirmy pirate.

"You have come to steal our treasure, you fiend!"

"No-I-Have-most-certainly-NOT!" Came the outraged reply. "Sherlock, get off of me at once!"

Sherlock sat back and actually began to whine petulantly, John following his captain. Apparently this teenaged boy was a ally.

"Mycroft!" The raven squeaked in a accusatory tone. "What are you doing and how did you get on our pirate ship? Never mind that, off the plank you go!"

Mycroft stood up, brushing himself off with a pompous air about him. "This is not a pirate ship, this is a park play structure. Who is that?" He pointed at the rather scuffed up blonde, huffing and out of breath next to Sherlock.

John opened his mouth, prepared to introduce himself properly before he was interrupted by a very chuff Sherlock. "This is John Hamish Watson. He's six years old and lives with his older sister and his mom and dad and two cats. He walks to kindergarten every day and doesn't like to brush his hair, and he's my pirate doctor and my bestest friend."

John decided not to question how he knew that, instead staring at him in a rather awed fashion and chirping "Fantastic! Oh, and you're MY bestest friend, Sherlock."

Sherlock smiled. He's never had a bestest friend before. He hadn't even had a worstest friend before.

Mycroft blinked. Had he... just said- "You... Need to stop terrorizing this poor child." He scolded the younger boy, shaking his finger animatedly. "Making him believe people are trying to attack-"

"But they are!" Both of he children protested, each of them going into detailed explanations of marriages and magic and sandcastles.

The older boy looked oddly gentle after they calmed down, both of them murmuring now to each other about a skeem to break into the great pirate Moffat's treasury, each of them looking very happy and excited about the prospect of another adventure. John glanced up, looking Mycroft in the eye and tilting his head questioningly.

Mycroft let out a deep sigh, clapping his hands together. "...alright then, you two have a good time, I suppose. Friends." He shook his head, stepping of the set. "Mummy called us home for dinner, Sherlock, but... I'm sure she'll understand if you're a bit late. I'll wait over there." He pointed towards a park bench, already starting his trek towards it.

It was dark before Sherlock and John parted ways.

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Thanks for reading the first installment of Bestest. These will all be very silly and a bit random; but ideas are accepted and reviews are the kiss to my wound. Magical.

-S


End file.
